Time Is a River (35 page)

“Well, that’s an interesting story,” he told the assembled group after they’d told him of their suspicions that the bones found might be those of Mr. Theodore DeLancey. Mia stood by Nada in front of the sheriff’s broad wood desk. Behind her, Stuart, Phyllis, and Becky formed a wall of support.

“It’s no story,” Nada snapped back, all six feet of her straightening in offense. She prided herself on being a top-notch reporter, and the last thing she tolerated was anyone doubting her facts. “Theodore DeLancey of New York was declared missing by this very office in November of nineteen twenty-nine. His body was never found. We’ve got here a copy of a geological survey that shows Route Nine had a mudslide the very night DeLancey disappeared.”

“Here it is,” Phyllis said as she stepped forward with the papers in hand. She set them on the sheriff’s desk with a flourish.

“Thank you, Miss Pace,” Sheriff Rhodes said, taking them in his hands. He put on his glasses and studied them, then raised his eyes over his lenses speculatively. “So, you think this here DeLancey fella was taking a stroll along Route Nine that night? In the pouring rain?”

“We have reason to believe he was on his way to Watkins Cove,” Mia added.

He squinted, as if trying to place her, then removed his glasses. “Are you referring to that story about ol’ Kate Watkins and the killing at the cabin?” He shook his head ruefully. “That’s an old chestnut.”

Mia snapped her mouth shut in frustration. Sheriff Rhodes was a parody of Sheriff Andy of Mayberry trying to talk sense to the poor, confused townsfolk.

“You listen to me,” Phyllis Pace said sharply, pointing a finger at the sheriff. “I remember you running naked in your mother’s yard, so don’t you dare talk to me in that patronizing tone of voice.”

Mia turned her head to see Stuart’s eyes twinkling.

Phyllis puffed up and Mia could well imagine high school boys cowering under that steely gaze. “You see before you representatives of some of this town’s oldest and proudest families. Nada Turner is the editor and publisher of our newspaper. We speak for the town when we say that we demand an answer to this scandal that has clouded our city, spawned malicious gossip, and smeared the reputation of the Watkins family for two generations. I call on you to do your duty, as the town failed to do in nineteen twenty-nine. If this
is
the body of Theodore DeLancey, then this town has the right to know. The Watkins family has the right to know. And frankly, Sheriff,
I
want to know. This
story
, as you put it, must be put to rest at last.”

Mia felt a stirring of pride for Phyllis. Sheriff Rhodes appeared chastened, though Mia knew as a politician, he was wise enough to see which way the wind would turn if he ignored this request.

“Well, now, Miss Pace,” he began in a conciliatory tone. He looked up to include the group. “Ladies. Sir. This isn’t the kind of thing we can get an answer for right away. See, here’s how it goes. We’ve got searchers out there this very minute working in difficult terrain. Some of them guys are in mud knee-high to chest-high in spots. We’re picking through to find not just bones, but shoes, a jacket, and any other clothing or jewelry that could have been stripped off with the mud as it tumbled down the canyon. Now that alone takes time.”

Mia heard a door open and close, felt the stir of air rustle through the room.

“Next the bones are cleaned and assigned an identification number,” the sheriff continued. “Then the victim’s teeth are X-rayed, any clothing and jewelry carefully packed away, and a sample of his DNA taken.

“But you get into another problem now. What do you compare this DNA to? In a crime scene you’ve got DNA at the scene and a suspect you’re trying to link the crime to. The best way to make an ID with DNA is to have living blood relatives, a parent or a child, to come forward and offer to have their DNA tested and compared. It’s basically like doing a paternity test.”

He leaned forward in his squeaky chair and pointed his index finger on the desk. “Now, see, here’s the stickler as I see it. Supposing we get the DNA. Where are we going to get the DNA sample to match it with?” He spread open his palms. “Where’s his family today?”

“Here.”

All heads turned to the rear of the room, where Belle stood by the door. She was dressed in khakis and a coral-colored fishing shirt that complemented her red hair. She walked forward to the sheriff’s desk and stuck out her hand.

“My name is Belle Carson. Belle Watkins Carson. If that body is Theodore DeLancey, then he’s my grandfather.”

I
t was a beautiful autumn. Everyone in Watkins Mill thought it might be the prettiest fall in years. Fall was always Mia’s favorite season. It was an introspective time of year when her thoughts turned inward. She took long walks, her chest expanding at the wonder of color and treasuring each warm moment before winter descended with its cold winds to chase her back indoors.

Autumn had come early and quick this year. Seemingly overnight the trees in the cove exploded in color, replacing the dense green with a tapestry of ochre, rust, tawny orange, and vivid yellow. Birds migrated overhead but the Carolina wren outside her window, that boisterous, perky, warm-colored neighbor, would stay for the winter and be there to welcome her whenever she could return.

Mia sighed and closed the window, turning the lock and drawing the curtains. Fall was also a season of endings, she thought. She’d come to this sanctuary in the woods in the spring when her tears flowed like the rain. It was a time for renewal, and she dug deep and carefully planted seeds that had taken root in the long days and nights of summer to flourish and mature.

Mia walked from window to window, shutting and locking each as she prepared to close up the cabin for her return to Charleston. With each thump and click the silence closed her in. Silence had a sound, she realized. It was the sound of emptiness.

She knew this day would come but she didn’t know how hard it would be to leave. Her fingertips lingered on the window latch, remembering how she’d unlocked the windows and flung open her arms in welcome to the night. She was closing the windows again not in fear but to secure the cabin, tucking it in till another pair of hands—Belle’s—raised them up again.

In the upstairs garret she’d left the furniture she’d purchased. Belle had told her it would be her room, waiting for her anytime she wanted to return. Downstairs all was tidy. The western sun cast slanted light into the kitchen, illuminating the polished enamel of the cast-iron stove. She walked slowly into the main room, her careful eye catching every detail to tuck neatly away in her mind like a photograph to pull out at a time in the future when she needed it.

Mia had selected two of the many watercolors she’d painted of the river to frame and hang over the fireplace. One when the sun was setting and turning the still water of the pool the colors of stained glass; the other of the shallow riffles when the morning sun shattered the water into sparkling crystal. She smiled to think that a part of her would stay behind in this cabin that had sheltered her through so many storms.

She felt emotion welling from a deep source. She stood in the center of the room, inhaling the scents of pine oil and soap, breathing deep as if she could somehow absorb the soul of the cabin to carry with her. When she exhaled she opened her eyes and looked once more around the shadowed room.

The soul of the cabin was gone, Mia realized. It was bittersweet not to feel the presence of Kate Watkins in the cabin. Not even the return of the diaries to the bookshelf had brought her spirit back. Whatever force had held her to this piece of earth had released her. She was free.

From outside she heard the rumble of tire against gravel, and going to the window she saw Belle’s truck roll to a stop. She rushed to the door both surprised and delighted by Belle’s arrival. She’d thought they’d all said their farewells at the party the night before. Nada, Becky, and Phyllis had joined forces and thrown a combination
Welcome Belle! Farewell Mia!
shindig at Nada’s house on Main Street. Nada had given her a tour of the house, explaining room by room how in her retirement she was going to turn the big, old Victorian into a bed and breakfast at long last. “You,” she’d told Mia, “will be my first guest when you return.”

Mia swung open the door, then hurried to the porch railing to lean far over and call out, “Hey, I’m not running off with the silver!”

Belle laughed as she walked along the stone path and up the steps, her hands tucked into her jean jacket. “Better not be. I’m planning on keeping that silver.” She reached the top of the stairs and added, “And the china and the books and anything else that belonged to my grandmother.”

“Really? I’m glad. Good for you. It’s irreplaceable, no matter what the monetary value.”

“I know it. And thanks to you I had a second chance to think it over. Though,” she said, rubbing her arm, “last night I promised to hand over Kate’s diary to the historical society. There are some important comments in there about the times and topography.”

Mia smiled to herself. So many times over the summer she’d been tempted to at least show Nada the diaries. It was Belle’s place to make the grand gesture.

“Nada must be over the moon!”

Belle chortled. “She is. She also caught me after one too many beers.”

“What about the fishing diaries? Are you donating those, too?”

Belle walked to the edge of the porch and looked out across the cove. A shaft of light revealed every line on her weathered face as she squinted. Her red hair shone like a sunset and her dark eyes, the Watkins eyes, were as dark a brown as the pool’s bottom. Mia thought she never saw her more beautiful.

“I don’t know what I’ll do with them,” Belle confided. “I only know I can’t let them go.” She turned to look at Mia, her eyes questioning.

Mia tilted her head. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Figured you might. We have that in common. Our love for Kate Watkins. Genes have no claim on love.”

Mia closed her eyes and said nothing for a moment. She just wanted to absorb the compliment, to feel this bond, like sisters.

Belle leaned back to rest against the porch railing. Her long arms held on to the wood at her sides.

“Hey, I came for another reason entirely. Sheriff Rhodes came to call on me the other day. Now that the investigation is over and the bones interred, he was free to give me the few items they found with DeLancey’s remains. There was his signet ring,” she said, and she held out her hand.

Mia took the hand and brought it closer to her eyes. On Belle’s middle finger was a large gold ring with the family crest engraved into the circular plate. Mia recognized the handsome dragon with its foreclaws raised and the four stars, one on each corner of a shield. It was the same crest she saw embossed on DeLancey’s letterhead. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is, isn’t it? I don’t wear much jewelry, but I’ll wear this. There’s one more thing,” Belle said, and she dug into her bag. She pulled out a small box wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a bright red ribbon. “There’s no way I can ever thank you for what you’ve done for me and for my grandmother. I know I gave you a hard time about digging in the mud, but as it turned out, that’s exactly what you needed to do. Literally!”

They laughed quietly, thinking how life could sometimes be filled with irony.

Belle sighed. “You know, I only wish my mother were alive to witness all this. She’d be basking in her glory, that’s for damn sure. I can just see her strolling through town with her head held high.” Belle looked up and Mia was surprised to see Belle’s eyes moist with tears. “If she were here, she’d thank you, too.”

“I didn’t do it for thanks. It’s I who should thank you.”

“Let’s not get into that or we’ll be thanking each other till the spring thaw. Here,” she said, and without ceremony handed the box to Mia.

“What’s this?”

“Open it and find out.”

Mia tugged at the red ribbon and it slipped loose. She tore the tape from the tissue, then pulled the wrapping back and opened the box. A gold locket lay nestled in a wad of jeweler’s cotton. Her heart leaped to her throat because she knew instantly what it was. With shaky fingers she removed the locket from the box and let it slide into her palm. The locket was the size of a half dollar and made of burnished, antique gold. It hung from a chunky chain of the same rosy hue. The metal was dented in spots but it only added to the locket’s charm.

“They found it clutched in his hand.”

“Oh, that’s so sad. Can’t you just see it? DeLancey fighting through the storm, clutching this locket, desperately trying to make it back to Kate. And she sitting here, alone, feeling such guilt. My God, Belle, she died thinking she should have saved his life. That thought haunted her. If only he could have made it. If only she could have found out the truth before she died.”

Belle shrugged. “If only…” Then she looked at Mia. “In the end the only life we can save is our own.”

Mia pressed her lips together. “Belle, are you sure you want me to have this? It doesn’t seem right.”

Belle nodded her head, then cleared her throat. “I thought you should have something that was hers. But if you’re going to get all weepy about it I’m taking it back.”

Mia’s laugh ended in a hiccup. She closed her hands around the locket and tried to think of something that could even touch the depth of what she was feeling at that moment. She’d heard so many platitudes over the past year when she was battling cancer that she’d thought simply masked people’s aversion to sickness and death. She knew now she was wrong. There was a reason cultures created pat phrases for moments of intense emotion.
With deepest sympathy. Congratulations. I’m sorry.
Thousands of years of universal emotions were encapsulated into a few select words of meaning because no string of creative, clever, brilliant language could ever express the depth of feeling.

“Thank you,” Mia said softly.

“You’re welcome,” Belle replied.

Belle took the locket, then stood behind Mia and fastened the chain around her neck. Mia turned to face her, settling the locket on her chest between her breast and scar. They hugged as women do when emotions are so high that no words, not even pat phrases, are enough. When Mia released Belle, she turned toward the cabin and delivered a grandiose wave.

“She’s all yours now. I hope she’s as good to you as she was to me.”

“It’ll always be here for you. I’m not going to rent it. I thought I’d stay here for a while. See how I like it. I may be more like my grandmother than you know!”

Mia smiled and looked to where water cascaded from white rocks into a deep pool. The mist rose from the waters, curling like smoke, and from somewhere they could hear the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker seeking a meal. It was a sight Mia had seen and painted every day of the summer. She would, she realized, have to seek out a new source of inspiration now.

Belle looked at her, as though reading her thoughts. “That river has flowed through this cove for thousands of years. It’s not going anywhere. When you’re done doing whatever it is you have to do down in Charleston, you just follow the river home.”

Mia nodded her head. “I just may do that.”

“Do you have everything you need for the trip? A full tank of gas? Directions? I’ve got bottles of water in my car you can have.”

“Hey, thanks, but I can take care of myself now.”

“I expect you can.” Belle looked at her in her brown fishing shirt and pants. “You look real natural in those clothes now. They fit you well.”

“They do, don’t they?” she replied with a smug smile. That compliment had been hard won from a tough teacher.

“How’s the rod and reel treating you?”

“Real good,” she replied. Belle had sold her the Temple Fork Casting for Recovery rod she’d been using all summer. They both knew a fly fisher grew attached to her rods, and Mia had a world of experience attached to that one. “In fact,” she said, turning toward the stairs, “I thought I’d take it out one last time before I go.”

Belle twisted her lips in a smirk and, putting her hands on the railing, she leaned over and called out to Mia’s back, “I reckon you’re going to meet Stuart?”

Mia hauled her fly rod and reel out from the sedan, careful of the delicate tip. She looked up with a sly smile. “Yep.”

“He’s a good man,” Belle replied. “Even if he is the competition.”

Mia closed the car door and faced Belle with an ear-to-ear grin on her face. “Honey, you’re the granddaughter of Kate Watkins in Watkins Mill. You don’t have any competition!”

She waved, then turned and began walking the path that led past the deep pool. As was her habit, she took a quick scan of the depths. She thought she saw a sliver of movement but she wasn’t sure. That wily trout. Of all the fish she caught, she knew she’d remember the one she didn’t catch the most.

“Hey,” Belle called out from the porch. “You ever catch that big trout?”

Mia shook her head, chuckling softly to herself, then turned once more toward the cabin. Her smile wavered. Belle was standing on the porch, tall and lean, her long braid falling over her shoulder. She stood with a proprietary air and, for a flash, Mia thought she could be Kate Watkins.